


Daughters of Ryloth

by Kaz



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I don't even like Corso very much and I still feel sorry for him, a class story that was absolutely not prepared for this, also starring Vette's latent big sister instincts, and flees into a different class story, and the author's Twi'lek feelings, imagine an extremely confused Sith Warrior somewhere off-screen, major character death tag is for a secondary character and only there to be safe, the one in which the Sith Inquisitor goes "screw you I quit" at the start of Act 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25511269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaz/pseuds/Kaz
Summary: If you ask Vette, Twi'lek have to stick together - former Twi'lek slave girls especially. Which is why, after arriving on Korriban for the greatest heist of her life, she can't help but notice the kid. Can't help but root for her, even if she is baby Sith.The acolyte in question, fresh from slavery and trying to survive Harkun's trials, can't help but notice her in turn.The changes spiral from there.
Relationships: Female Sith Inquisitor & Corso Riggs, Female Sith Inquisitor & Darth Zash, Female Sith Inquisitor & Vette, Female Smuggler & Corso Riggs
Comments: 42
Kudos: 54





	1. Vette

The first time Vette sees the kid is at the shuttle landing pad on Korriban, not long after her arrival. Vette is hiding in a stack of supply crates, waiting for an opportunity to sneak away undetected. Her blood is fizzing with the excitement of being on the greatest heist she's ever pulled, but she pushes it down, tries to make herself feel dull, unimportant. Sith can read minds, the stories go, and although Vette isn't sure she believes them it can't hurt to be careful.

Beneath the excitement, the quiet, rising worry that Vette might, just, be in over her head.

She pushes that down, too.

Just a single glance around tells her this isn't a planet where she'll be able to blend into the crowds. Vette expected that – brought camping gear and all – but first she has to get out of sight. There's more traffic to Korriban than Vette was expecting, and the landing pad stays busy enough that she can't find a moment to slip away unnoticed. As yet another shuttle touches down, lowers the boarding ramp, Vette's resigned herself to waiting until nightfall. She eyes the people who disembark absently. Kids, really, wearing the grey-and-red jumpsuits that mark someone out as baby Sith. Although these look... thinner, hungrier, and a lot more afraid than the ones she's seen so far. And-

Vette's gaze sharpens.

She'd always thought Sith was a human or pureblood thing, so she'd been surprised to see the occasional alien face among the baby Sith earlier, a Rattataki here or a Zabrak there. _Rare_ face, mind you. The aliens are still far in the minority, and the girl now disembarking is the first fellow Twi'lek Vette's seen.

She's thin, too thin, something the skin-tight jumpsuit shows off all too well. The slave-brand which stands out stark on one pale green cheek makes it clear how she got that way, and Vette finds herself reaching up to rub at her neck in unconscious sympathy (even over a decade freed she still sometimes wakes expecting to feel a collar around her neck). And she's- _young,_ all gawky limbs and wide eyes and lekku with that hint of stubbiness that means they haven't finished growing. She looks like someone's kid sister.

The girl isn't the last to disembark from the shuttle. That honour goes to a pureblood already in Sith-y robes. He shoulders the girl aside so roughly she stumbles, barely manages to catch herself. Even from Vette's distance, the contempt in the look he gives her is obvious.

Although maybe it's just that Vette's been on the receiving end of that look too many times in her life herself. You're trash, that look says. Twi'lek slave girl trash. Shouldn't you be decorating some Hutt's stronghold instead of polluting my air?

Hidden in the crates, Vette's fists clench at her sides. _You show him,_ she thinks. For a moment, she's forgotten that the girl is baby Sith and Vette is a tomb robber. For a moment, they're just two daughters of Ryloth alone in an uncaring galaxy. _You show him what a Twi'lek slave girl can do._

Vette still doesn't know if Sith can read minds. Neither of the baby Sith look in her direction even once. But the way the girl straightens, as if her spine just turned to durasteel, makes Vette wonder whether she didn't hear her after all.

* * *

The first time Vette talks to the girl is much later, in the Academy jail after her heist has gone well and truly sideways. Vette isn't too proud to admit she was terrified after being captured – her time on Korriban quickly taught her the Sith live up to the worst of their reputation – but as the days passed with nothing more than the occasional shock, it became clear that she wasn't going to be killed out of hand. If she were wise, Vette would be worried about what they're keeping her around for, but she's never been good at thinking ahead like that. It's what got her into this mess.

All of which is to say that Vette is really, _really_ bored by the time the door opens and the girl walks in.

She's looking better than when she arrived, Vette thinks. Still too skinny, but she must have been getting regular meals – there's some weight to those cheeks now and her frame is starting to fill in. The jumpsuit's been traded in for a dark robe hanging open over pants and tunic, and there's a vibrosword clipped to her back. Most importantly, her back is still straight and proud, her steps confident. Considering she doesn't even know the kid's name, Vette's surprisingly relieved to see she's doing well.

Although really, Vette's had lots of time to study Sith training methods, both while she was casing the tomb and from her cell. It's a closer look than most non-Sith ever get. And from what she's seen... what she's seen them turn people into...

She's not sure it's a good thing for the girl, that she's doing well.

Case in point: it turns out the reason she's here is for kriffing _torture lessons._

It's probably a sign that Vette herself has been on Korriban too long that this doesn't faze her for long. Instead, she leaves her curiosity free reign as she eavesdrops on the girl's conversation with her warden.

The girl's accent is crisp, clear-cut Imperial. Heartlands Imperial, if Vette is any guess, no colony – Dromund Kaas or Ziost, maybe. No slave dialect, either, which is its own little puzzle.

Vette mulls on that as the girl walks over to the far end of the room, where the prisoner is strapped down. She's too far away to understand the words, but she can make out the tone. The other baby Sith is panicked, frightened, in pain. (This isn't the first visitor he's had. Vette's getting better at blocking out screams – talk about life skills she never wanted.) The girl's tone is smooth, cold, threatening. At one point she raises her hand, lets lightning dance over her fingers. Seems she's learning something.

But this particular lesson is apparently one she's stubbornly resisting, because the lightning never leaves that hand. Vette can't help being a little relieved, at that.

Finally, whatever the girl has been saying has its effect. The man ( _boy,_ really, _kriff_ Vette hates Korriban) shouts out something – a name? Whatever it is, apparently it's what she was after. She turns, walks back over to the inquisitor who's been observing her. The two confer.

Definitely heartlands Imperial, but there's something beneath it, something familiar. Not an _accent,_ just something about the word choice...

Of course. She'd learned Basic from her masters, spoken another language in the slave quarters.

It's impulsive, of course, but Vette's never claimed to be otherwise. As the girl turns to leave, Vette gets to her feet.

"Good luck, kid. Knock 'em dead."

She says it in Huttese, signs it with her lekku at the same time. It's a guess, sure, but – Vette knows slavery, knows Twi'lek slavery. Half her gang used to be slaves. It's fair odds that the girl's native language is one of the two.

Her jailor snarls, reaches for the controller. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

The pain from the shock collar is worth it for the small delighted smile that flits across the girl's face.

* * *

The first time the two of them have an actual conversation is not long after that. Vette's still in her cell, still bored – bored enough she's started taunting her jailor to relieve her frustration. Given the collar it's probably not the smartest way to spend her time, but hey, no one's ever accused Vette of having good impulse control.

It's night-time when it happens. The overhead lights are low, her jailor's left, all the other cells are empty (have been since they took away the bodies in the afternoon) and Vette's trying to sleep. It's not going well. The metal floor is uncomfortable, but even more than that the developing burns on her neck are making it hard to drift off.

Maybe she should stop deliberately annoying the guy with the collar controller?

Vette considers this.

Nah.

She's almost managed to start drowsing when the door opens.

Vette is wide-awake and on her feet in seconds. She's got no idea what could be coming here – coming for her – in the middle of the night, but. It's Korriban. Whatever it is, it's not going to be good. Vette may be unarmed, but at least she can spit in its eye.

She's not expecting the kid.

" _Achuta_ ," the girl says. _Hello –_ she's speaking Huttese. "I'd like to talk. Do you mind?"

"What, do I look like I've got places to be?" Vette responds in the same language. "Shoot, kid."

She hasn't acted afraid of a Sith yet and she's not going to start now. Especially not with the girl who still reminds her more of her gang than anyone else.

The girl doesn't take offense. Instead, she settles down on the floor in front of Vette's cell, cross-legged, dark robes pooling around her. "I heard them say you were captured in the tomb of Naga Sadow. Gossip has it you were trying to steal something."

Vette spends a moment wondering what Sith gossip must be like. Then she decides there are things no sentient being was meant to know. "That's right. I'm a treasure hunter, was after... something." Her left lekku gives a small twisting flick backwards – _unimportant, changing subject._ "I almost had it cracked before they caught me."

"Would you say you know the tomb well, then?" The girl's still settled on the ground, lekku swinging back and forth. _Just_ swinging, though. There's no _communication_ there, nothing of the subtle twitches and shifts that would add a second layer to this conversation. Kid doesn't speak lekku _._ Not that surprising – Vette knows from experience how young a slave can be taken from their parents – but still sad to see.

Don't get distracted, Vette.

"Yep," she answers the question. "I spent _weeks_ casing that place. I'd bet my blasters I know it better than anyone on this dustball."

If not for that kriffing soldier...

The girl grins, wide and delighted. "Fantastic! I'd like to make you a deal."

Deal?

"Not sure what you think I've got to offer, locked in here," Vette drawls. Her lekku sign _quizzical-curious_ before she remembers the kid won't be able to read it.

Kid's not looking at her, anyway. She's getting up in a flurry of dark cloth and gangly limbs. "It's simple. I've got business in Naga Sadow's tomb. I could use someone who knows the terrain. You come with me, and afterwards I'll get you off Korriban."

Hope surges so quickly it's almost painful. Vette likes to think of herself as an optimist, likes to focus on the moment instead of worrying about the future... but with every day in her cell it became clearer and clearer that this might be it for her. Now someone's offering her an escape-

It seems too good to be true. Hard-won experience says that means it probably is.

"And how're you planning to do that?" Vette asks. "Last I checked, baby Sith can't even get themselves off this planet."

There'd be a lot less of them around if they could. Vette knows by now that many of the baby Sith aren't exactly here voluntarily.

"Ah, but I won't be an acolyte anymore if I succeed! I'll be Lord Zash's apprentice." The kid grins again, but it's different this time, narrower, cruelly satisfied. A Sith's smile, Vette thinks. "And the word is Lord Zash spends most of her time on Dromund Kaas. Where she goes, her apprentice goes... and her apprentice _might_ just have some cargo to take with her. _Might_ just forget to close the hatch when she deposits it. Hm?"

Vette's skepticism is starting to crumble. It's not a bad plan, it's the best she has-

Assuming the kid is being honest. Vette may have an irrational soft spot for her, but really she doesn't _know_ the girl... and she's baby Sith. There's Twi'lek solidarity, and then there's being stupid.

But the kid isn't done.

"It's risky, sure, but I think it's better than your alternative. Gossip has it-"

"You sure are well-informed." Vette can't stop herself.

"I _listen,_ all right?" For a moment, the kid is all wounded teenage pride. "Anyway, gossip has it Darth Baras is the one who requested they keep you alive and unharmed for now. _He's_ looking for an apprentice too, and he's planning something in Naga Sadow's tomb as the final trial for his acolytes. Chances are you're supposed to be a guide for his favourite." She cocks her head, lekku swinging. "I think you saw one of the candidates this morning. She had her interrogation trial here."

Vette remembers the grim-faced pureblood baby Sith. When she'd entered, there'd been four prisoners in the jail. When she'd left, there'd only been Vette. The only thing Vette could say in her favour was that at least she'd made it quick.

"And there's Vemrin, of course – everyone's heard of Vemrin! Did in half his batch the first week without the supervisors being able to prove anything. Neither of them would negotiate with you, and they definitely wouldn't take you off-planet after. I'm much nicer, I promise." The girl leans forward, extends one hand. "So, what do you say? I'll even give you a present to sweeten the deal."

A shudder goes through Vette at the sight of the collar controller clenched in her hand.

And... it means something, she thinks, that the girl has had it from the start and hasn't once suggested she could just force Vette to comply. That she's acting like Vette has options, here.

When they both know she doesn't.

"All right, kid. I'm sold."

"Capital!" The girl beams, that bright innocent grin again. So happy, it's almost as though she'd thought Vette might say _no._

A short time later, the forcefield to her cell has been disengaged and Vette's neck is free once more. She rubs at it, winces as pain radiates from her touch.

"Here. Let me." The girl's voice is quieter, empty of the near-manic cheerfulness she's exhibited so far. Fingers brush her hand away, slather something cool onto the burns.

"Thanks, kid," Vette says when she's done.

"No problem. I hate slave collars." Still sober even as she leans back, puts the salve back into the medpack.

This is the closest Vette's been to the kid. The slave brand on her cheek stands out, of course, but it's also possible to make out fainter marks on her neck. Some of them have faded into scars, some are still red and puffy. No wonder she hates collars. After all, she knows what one feels like from close personal experience.

Maybe it's that sense of empathy that forces her mouth open.

"Say, are you going to be okay?"

The girl blinks at her. Vette supposes it was an overly broad question, especially on Korriban.

"Freeing me, I mean," she explains. "If Darth Whatsis really wants me for some trial or another, I'm guessing he's not going to be too amused to find me gone."

The girl stops in the middle of stowing her medpack. For a moment, there's nothing but blank astonishment on her face.

"Are you... _worried_ about me?"

From her tone, this is the most surprising thing to happen to her in a while.

"Why not? Someone should be." Vette considers mentioning that some part of her has been worried about the kid since Vette saw her step off the shuttle, but she already seems to be having enough trouble with the idea. No point throwing a blaster pack into that explosion.

The kid stares at her for a moment longer, then rocks back on her heels. The grin is back, too abrupt to be real. "I'll be fine! Everyone will think that one of Baras's acolytes tried to get ahead of the game – but I'm one of Zash's. Different overseer and trials entirely. Not a suspect because there'd be no point, you know? And if anyone did happen to notice I had to go to Naga Sadow's tomb too, well," she shrugs, "lots and lots of people can tell you I left for there this afternoon, chasing after Ffon."

"Circled back round after nightfall, I take it?" Vette doesn't need to see the confirming nod. "Good job on the alibi, kid."

The kid lights up. Vette wonders how frequently baby Sith get praised, during training. She thinks she can guess.

"See? I know what I'm doing. You don't have to... worry..." the girl pronounces the word as though it's some strange esoteric piece of vocabulary she's not sure how to use, "about me."

"I'll take it under advisement, kid."

Vette's about as Force-sensitive as the closest brick, her chances of telling the future are a nice flat zero. All the same, she thinks it's a pretty safe bet that she's not going to stop worrying anytime soon.

"Ready to go tomb-robbing, then?" she asks instead of letting herself think on that too long.

"I was _born_ ready," the kid declares.

Vette has to bite her cheek in order not to laugh before following her out of the jail.

* * *

Leaving the Academy goes surprisingly smoothly. The kid carefully guides them through a maze of dark corridors, past Imperial flag after Imperial flag. After this in-depth look at their decorating sense, Vette's not sure Sith recognise the existence of colours other than black and red.

At this time of night the place is nearly deserted, and Vette's started to think they'll make it outside without running into a single other person when she turns a corner to come face-to-face with a Sith.

Full Sith, too, not baby Sith, judging by the lightsaber hanging at his belt, his greying hair and the glowing yellow eyes. Reflexively, Vette's hand snaps to her own belt, but of course she's unarmed. _Shavit._ Here's hoping the kid can get them out of this one-

A hand grabs her upper arm, tugs. Vette follows the pull, darts to the side...

...just in time for the Sith to step into the space she'd just vacated. Vette stares as the man continues on his way without looking left or right. It's as if he can't see them at all.

The kid still hasn't let go of Vette's arm, but her grip is loose. When Vette glances at her, her eyes are distant, her expression strangely focused.

Vette's heard stories – everyone has – but she had no idea Sith could act as sentient stealth generators.

"That," she whispers when the Sith is safely away, "is the coolest thing ever. Way more useful than lightning."

The kid blinks a few times, as though coming back to herself. "Oh, I don't know. I find the lightning pretty useful too."

That kills the conversation.

It only picks up again once they're outside and a safe distance away. That's when introductions finally happen, too.

The kid is called Ilmelen. Not a Twi'lek name, but it's not like Vette can throw stones there. Not like it's all that surprising, either, for a Twi'lek ex-slave who doesn't speak lekku. Vette thinks for a moment, then continues calling her "kid". She doesn't complain.

As they make their way towards the tomb, Vette explains what she'd figured out about it before being captured. That shifts smoothly into explaining how she'd gotten into treasure-hunting in the first place... and how she'd come by the skills required.

"You were part of a _pirate gang?_ "

Vette grins, remembering Nok and Risha and all the rest. "I was! Joined when I was eight. But I haven't been part of that in a while. Lately, I've been running with a group of Twi'lek treasure hunters. We... liberate... artifacts that were stolen from Ryloth in the past." This is still something Vette thinks is kriffing amazing, and she's happy to see that, judging by her expression, the kid agrees. "Want to hear about our last heist?" she offers.

"Please!"

The girl looks even younger when she listens to Vette's stories of heroic thievery in the name of Twi'lek pride, eyes wide with excitement. Vette gathers from her reactions that she spent the long grinding years of slavery dreaming of a very particular kind of freedom – the freedom of having a blaster at your hip and a ship to call home and thousands of worlds to visit, of shoot-outs and heists and swashbuckling adventure. To her, Vette's stepped straight out of a world she'd only known through stories, holodramas and her own imagination, and it's enough to leave her open-mouthed with awe. It's cute, Vette thinks.

Which is probably what makes the change in attitude when they run into the other Sith so surprising.

It seems Sith, or at least baby Sith, have to concentrate to keep the magical stealth up, and Vette's stories are in fact just that distracting. (Yes, she's proud.) At least, the baby Sith they run into over the next rise has absolutely no problems looking at them.

He's human, but Vette almost wants to ask him if he has Wookie blood. The man is _huge,_ shoulders wider than hers and the kid's put together, Vette's nose barely level with his chest. The baby Sith jumpsuit stretches over his chest, showing the breadth is muscle rather than flab...

The red-and-grey cloth is stained, torn. The man's hair is matted and greasy, as if he hasn't been able to see to basic human-standard hygiene for a while. His hands are trembling, and there is something wild in his dark eyes.

Vette takes a step back. By now she's learned what these signs mean, and they're bad enough when the person in question isn't able to break her with one hand.

The kid doesn't.

"Oh. A _failure._ "

If not for the undeniable physical evidence, Vette almost wouldn't believe it's her speaking. Her tone is coldly amused, vicious, _dangerous_. Paired with that pure Imperial Basic, and she sounds unmistakeably Sith.

The man recognises it too.

"You. You're- you're an acolyte, you-" His eyes rove over the kid, taking in the details: clean dark robes, not baby Sith standard. The vibrosword in good repair. The sheer confidence that fills the air around her. All the signs of a baby Sith still in what passes for good standing on Korriban – not one who's been driven into the wilderness to die.

"You're on your trials, still, aren't you?"

"I am. And if you get out of my way now, failure, I'll even let you live."

Sweat beads the man's forehead. Vette can see the whites all around his eyes. If this was Nar Shaddaa, she'd say he was coming off a bad trip.

 _Shavit,_ why did she ever leave Nar Shaddaa.

"If I- if I kill you, they'll let me come back!"

The kid still doesn't step back. Her right hand drifts to her sword, releases the holster. "Oh. You're not just a failure, you're _stupid._ " There's probably something to that, because if Vette were faced with the expression currently on the kid's face, she'd start running and wouldn't stop anytime soon. "Well. I suppose I can give you the only thing stupidity deserves."

When the man strikes at her, the kid's weapon is already there to block it. The two vibroswords crash into each other with a horrible sizzling noise, energy against energy. For all the man's height and strength, the kid is holding him at bay with just one hand.

Her other hand rises, and it's filled with lightning. By the time the man sees it, it's already too late.

The screaming seems to last forever.

There's a puff of sand as the body crashes to the ground. Vette gives it just enough of a glance to tell that the man won't be getting up ever again. The kid doesn't bother – she's already turning away, clipping her vibrosword back to its holster, a softer smile back on her face.

"See, I told you the lightning is useful too."

Vette needs a moment longer to collect herself, still reeling from the sudden shift in attitude – the sudden jump to not just violence but lethal violence.

Although really, she shouldn't be shocked. There's no way this should be a surprise unless she was _forgetting_ the kid was a baby Sith, and Vette refuses to be that kriffing stupid.

"Vette?"

There's something hesitant about the kid's tone, and she's picking at the sleeve of her robe in the first sign of nervousness she's shown since they met.

She must know how this place is twisting her, what it's turning her into. Must know, and still not have any way to stop it.

Vette should be afraid, she knows. As she's just demonstrated, the kid is dangerous – dangerous, and learning how to be cruel with it. Vette's been ignoring the possibility, but really she _still_ doesn't know if the girl's planning to betray her after their heist is done. But somehow, in that moment all she can summon up is pity.

"Sorry, got distracted. So, that was when Taunt said..."

The two of them continue forward, leaving the corpse behind.

* * *

It's when they near the tomb that Vette waves the kid to the side.

"I want to stop by the camp I had nearby. It should still be there – not like anyone managed to find it before I got captured."

The kid nods. "You want to grab your supplies?"

Vette gives her a long, slow look.

They've been walking for hours now, and it was night when they started. The kid still looks chipper at first glance, but there's something tight about her mouth, a tremble to her hands, and her lekku are hanging limp and unmoving.

And even if all those signs are wrong and she's not completely exhausted, _Vette_ is.

"I figured we could make camp, actually. First rule of heists, kid – never start one when sleep-deprived. You need your full concentration."

The kid frowns. Vette frowns back.

"Unless we're under some time constraint you didn't mention?" She supposes she _could_ crack the tomb and get back to the Temple without sleep, but she won't be good for much afterwards. Not a great state for an escaped slave to be in.

The kid shakes her head. "No – Harkun will tell me I'm late no matter what, but Lord Zash understands these things take time. You're right. It's a good idea."

Vette's camp is half-buried in sand but otherwise untouched. The first thing she does is root through her supplies for-

"Baby, come to mama."

"I think that's the first time I've ever heard someone call a blaster pistol _baby_ ," the kid says.

"Well, you clearly haven't been hanging around the right people," Vette retorts. "Or anyone who's been stuck on Korriban unarmed for weeks."

"At least that's not something I have to worry about, anymore." When Vette blinks at her, puzzled, the kid lets a spark of lightning run over her hand.

And-

Suddenly and fiercely, Vette remembers being eight years old, pain radiating from the bandages on her neck, the heavy weight of the blaster as Nok pressed it into her hand.

Now she gets why the kid likes the lightning as much as the stealth. Vette's been a slave, Vette can imagine what it'd mean to have a weapon no one can take away from you.

"I guess you don't," Vette murmurs, and clips her blaster to her belt.

She didn't come to Korriban expecting to pick up a stray, so there's only one sleeping bag. She did, however, not know what sort of climate to expect, which means her supply box includes a bunch of cold-weather gear meant for far lower temperatures. A few minutes with a vibroknife, and the kid has a little nest for herself.

"Comfortable?" Vette asks as she snuggles further into the sleeping bag. (She ignores the little voice telling her a good person would have let the kid have the bag and made do with the cut-apart jacket. Vette's been sleeping on a metal floor for _weeks._ )

"Yes," comes the reply. Then, hesitantly, "...thanks."

"You're welcome, kid," Vette responds, and is out like a light.

She wakes abruptly not long later. It's still dark, Vette's still exhausted, and for a moment she doesn't know what woke her up.

"No, please!"

The kid's having a nightmare, which now that Vette thinks about it is the least surprising thing in the world.

"Kory, run away-"

Vette sighs and untangles herself from her sleeping bag so she can rise, shivering at the bite of cold air on her skin. She might not have needed the cold-weather gear, but Korriban at night is still chilly.

The kid's curled up in a little ball, clutching the pieces of winter coat around her. Her face is screwed up in fear and horror, her lekku twisted around each other in distress. Vette sighs, reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder-

The kid flinches away from the touch, curling even tighter.

Really, Vette doesn't know what she was expecting.

She sighs again, shifts back so she settles on her haunches.

Vette had had nightmares as a kid, she remembers. Ironic, really – it had been before she was sold and sold and sold again, before Nok came and gave an eight-year-old girl her freedom by killing half the people she knew. Baby Vette had had her mom and her sister and no idea how good she really had it. But she'd had nightmares all the same, used to climb into her sister's bed when they woke her up. Tivva had grumbled, but wrapped an arm around her and held her tight.

It's been so long since Vette's seen Tivva, she barely even remembers her face. But she remembers that feeling of safety. Remembers Risha, later, bigger and stronger and braver than Vette but ready to fight anyone who looked at her wrong.

Vette's never been the big sister before. Looking at the kid, tiny and curled up and so clearly hurting, she suddenly wants to give it a try.

Even if she's pretty sure both Tivva and Risha would be horrified that of all the people she could adopt, Vette picks the budding Sith Lord.

"Hey, kid." She keeps her voice low. Knowing what she does about the kid, she's guessing she won't react well to being woken up in the middle of a nightmare... with _a bad reaction_ being measured by Sith standards. Vette's not that suicidal, thanks. But she can still try this. Can offer a friendly, soothing voice hoping it'll reach whatever part of her brain the girl's trapped in. "Did I tell you about the time Nok conned a Hutt out of his palace? I got to help by playing messenger girl, and let me tell you, his face was amazing. It started when..."

* * *

The next day, the kid is as chipper as ever. She doesn't say anything about night terrors, and Vette doesn't either. Avoiding the subject is easy because they head into the tomb after that, and Vette's learned her lesson: no distracting the Sith stealth generator. Not only is the place infested with k'lor slugs, there are a bunch of other baby Sith around who all look a lot less friendly than Vette's.

The kid's goal is not, actually, the secret room Vette was aiming for. It's a _different_ secret room. The fact that Vette hadn't realised it existed stings her professional pride.

"It's fine! Lord Zash told me how to open it. And we can stop by yours on the way back."

Not much later, Vette decides she isn't that upset to have missed this secret room, seeing as the way to open it leaves something to be desired. Collecting rods to stick into the door is one thing, that's pretty standard fare, but Vette could do without the electrocution part.

"You okay, kid?"

"Fantastic! Never better! I wouldn't be Sith if I couldn't deal with a little lightning!"

"Uh huh." Vette is deeply skeptical. "Say that again once you've stopped twitching."

But maybe there is something to it, because the kid recovers quickly. If Vette had been hit by that she'd be out for hours, but mere minutes later the kid is walking around as if nothing happened. Handy, that.

And – all right, Vette is _really_ glad to have missed this room. She's stolen some unusual treasures before, but even she draws the line at ancient Sith monsters... especially ones that try to kill their rescuer. Even if they do back down in the end.

Khem Val, as the kid introduces him, is a Dashade, has been locked in this tomb since the days of Tulak Hord, and speaks only some weird ancient Sith language. The kid seems to understand him just fine. Vette tells herself it's freaky Sith powers again in order to pretend she's not jealous, because man, magical language understanding would be almost as cool as the stealth thing. Vette suffered learning Durese as a teenager. _Suffered._

Although judging by the kid's translations, Vette can probably do without knowing this particular language.

"There's no need to worry, he only eats Force-sensitives."

If the kid really does have weird Force language skills, Vette is going to teach her lekku so next time she'll be able to read it when Vette signs _are you kidding me right now._

"Kid, that doesn't make me less worried at all. One, I didn't realise him eating me was even-" don't say 'on the table', Vette, "-a possibility, thanks so much for mentioning it. Two, _you're_ Force-sensitive."

"Khem and I have come to an agreement," the kid says serenely. Khem Val rumbles something that doesn't sound very agreeing, but when the kid shoots him a dangerous look he subsides.

Actually, that's probably the worst thing about unexpectedly being joined by an ancient cannibalistic Sith monster: it means the kid is suddenly in Sith mode all the time, all cruel smiles and sadistic commentary. Vette's guessing she wants to keep the facade up in front of Khem Val, can't in any way blame her for it, but it wears on her. She misses the wide-eyed kid asking for another pirate story.

Khem Val clears away some rubble – and seriously, is _that_ why they picked the guy up, because if so Vette has some nice explosives she'd like to introduce the kid to – and soon enough the kid has what she came for: an ancient Sith star map. Vette's relieved to see that Sith mode doesn't make her stupid, because she scans the thing before packing it.

"Lord Zash asked me to retrieve it for her, and so I will. But if there's power in this thing, I want to know."

That's apparently Sith for _I'm curious._

Vette's a little surprised when the kid is true to her word and makes a detour on the way out so they can stop by Vette's hidden room. It's- reassuring, that she remembers Vette has her own goals and priorities.

Although Vette would've been happier if the room had contained what she'd expected.

"Creepy Sith statues, creepy Sith coffin, creepy Sith skeleton... when I get back to Nar Shaddaa someone is gonna wish he never met me, I tell you."

The kid's mouth twitches. Vette interprets it as _laughing would not be the Sith thing to do, but I really want to laugh right now,_ which is why she clearly needs to learn lekku as soon as she can. "Were you expecting something else?"

"I was _told_ the Twi'lek Ark was here."

Khem Val rumbles something. The kid shoots him a narrow-eyed glare. "Khem, if you're not going to be polite, I won't feed you later."

Vette decides ignoring the implications of that statement is what's best for her sanity. "He have any interesting input?"

"If you ignore the unasked-for commentary... he said there's nothing like that in any of the Sith tombs."

"Yeah, not surprised. I got set up, can even guess by who and why. I'll handle it." Vette spreads her arms to indicate the tomb. "So, see anything you like? It'd be a shame to come here for nothing."

The kid steps forward to stand beside Vette. "What, you think there won't be anything useful? This is the last resting place of an ancient Sith Lord, after all, and... oh. _Oh._ "

Vette turns to see what's caught the kid's attention just in time to see a small metal object rise from the coffin and drift towards them. The girl raises a hand, grasps it-

A blade of blood-red plasma extends with a hum that makes Vette's teeth vibrate.

The smile on the kid's face as she lifts the lightsaber is nothing short of terrifying. _"Mine,"_ she hisses.

And that is the first time Vette really, truly _understands_ that the kid is a Sith.

After that, the statues coming to life and attacking them all is honestly a welcome distraction.

* * *

The kid doesn't betray her.

Which – it's not that Vette was _expecting_ to be betrayed, it's not as if Vette doesn't _like_ the kid, but there was still that little corner of her mind that was thinking-

Well. Sith and all that.

But she doesn't betray her, not as they leave the tomb, not when Vette is left to hide outside the Academy while the kid presents her prize to her prospective master, not when the kid claims she needs to deposit some luggage before shuttling off the planet. Vette sneaks in the open hatch when the pilot has his back turned and leaves Korriban the same way she arrived, as a stowaway in the cargo hold.

If she never sees this planet again, it'll be too soon.

The Imperial Fleet's where Vette can finally mingle with the crowds again, busy and diverse enough that one more Twi'lek won't draw attention. Luck is on her side for once, too, seeing as she runs into a smuggler she knows. Miklak's happy enough to let her hitch a ride to Nar Shaddaa in exchange for some credits, and Vette knows the Duros well enough to know he'll actually hold to his word.

Which means the only thing left to do is say goodbye.

"You sure you don't want to come with me? Miklak'd grumble, but he'd take another passenger," Vette offers instead. Coaxingly, she adds, "I could teach you treasure-hunting. I think you've got potential."

Khem Val isn't around right now, thankfully, the kid showing up to the cantina alone. The kid hasn't mentioned where he is, and Vette hasn't asked. (Tried not to wonder. She's already had to scrub mental images of the Dashade playing slots at the casino out of her mind.) It's good, because it means they're alone – all the neighbouring tables cleared out when they saw the lightsaber at the kid's belt – and _that_ means the kid isn't in Sith mode. Makes it easier to have a proper conversation. Easier to see that she's tempted.

But the kid shakes her head anyway. "Even if Khem didn't kill me, Lord Zash would. Apprentices can't just run off."

And isn't that just something that makes Vette furious on the kid's behalf if she thinks on it for too long – that after everything she's _still_ got a master telling her what to do.

"But it's fine!" The kid grins. Vette's only been exposed to that slightly unhinged cheerfulness for a few days and she can already tell she's going to miss it. "I can handle myself, you don't have to worry. I think I'm getting good at the Sith thing, you know?"

Vette remembers the blood-red glow of a lightsaber, fingertips sprouting lightning, a corpse in the sand. Doesn't say _yes, you are, and that's what makes me worry._

"All right, if you're sure. You've got my comm frequency. If there's anything you need, let me know. Or if you just want to talk. Complain about the weather in Dromund Kaas, or whatever."

Honestly? Vette has her gang, but she was almost tempted to go along with the kid to keep an eye on her anyway. Might have seriously considered it, if the kid had been going anywhere other than Dromund Kaas. Trying to sneak her way onto the Imperial capital sounds like the quickest way to get a shock collar back around her neck, and Vette's had enough of that for one lifetime.

The kid laughs. "Of course! I'll comm you and tell you how awful it is that my robes got wet, how about that?"

"Sounds like a plan. And..." Vette inhales. There's one more thing she has to say, and it's very important it comes out right. "If you ever want out. _Ever._ You let me know, all right? I know it's dangerous, but we'll figure something out. I promise."

For a long moment there's just silence, the kid staring at her as if she's never seen anything quite like her before.

"I..." She trails off, has to start again. "I'll keep it in mind." Then, so quiet it's barely audible. "Thank you, Vette."

It's a thanks for more than just the offer, Vette knows.

The first time Vette hugs the kid is then and there, in the cantina on the Imperial Fleet.

Vette hopes it won't be the last.


	2. Zash

Zash is forced to admit it takes her a little time to recover from the setback.

Everything had been going so well up until then. Not to pat herself on the back, but her choice of apprentice had been perfect. Fiercely intelligent and blessed with enough curiosity, enough hunger for knowledge, that nobody would question her resurfacing with certain esoteric skills once the ritual was done. A joy to teach – and if Zash had to start at a lower level than she'd expected, if she'd discovered to her displeasure the girl had been barely literate on leaving Korriban, well. That simply gave her more time to win the girl over.

Not an easy task, that – but it would not have been right, if it had been. The girl was still _Sith,_ after all, canny and cautious and mistrustful to her bones. Only the stupidest apprentice would trust their master, and Zash could never abide stupidity. No – far better, far more satisfying, to slowly coax her into some semblance of loyalty through honeyed words and gifts and knowledge offered freely, like bringing a wild vine cat to eat from her hand.

At one point, Zash had wondered whether to go ahead with it. Seeing how other Sith treated her apprentice... she'd underestimated what a Twi'lek ex-slave would face, she told herself. Was she really willing to subject herself to that, instead of finding another, human subject for the ritual?

When that thought went through her head, Zash had stopped. Had made her excuses, returned to her apartments, and cleared the evening to look deep within her own mind. Because obviously, the only answer to that question was _yes, of course._ Zash has been underestimated ever since she first set foot on Korriban, is an old hand at using it. Being underestimated even more could only play to her advantage, why would she balk now?

That was the point where she realised that she'd come to like the girl. Powerful, clever in all the right ways, ruthless without being mindlessly violent, driven by a hunger to be _more_ but not controlled by it, she had the makings of a great Sith. There was a part of Zash that was... proud of her, that wanted to see what she could become. Enough that she was subconsciously trying to find excuses to keep her alive.

_Weak._ The whisper was still in the voice of her old master, even decades after she killed him. The skin on her back tingled in memory of his punishments.

This, Zash's flaw: she cares too easily, and for people she should not. Despite his best efforts, her master had not managed to excise it. Zash herself had failed as well. She had, however, managed the next best thing – to keep it from affecting her actions.

The ritual would go forward. Zash would claim her apprentice's body in place of her decaying one. And if she should feel grief at the loss of such a promising young Sith, all the better. For all that her peers preferred to focus solely on rage, a good Sith could draw power from all their emotions – and grief was a deep and potent one.

And so it had all gone according to plan. The girl had been suspicious, but years of apprenticeship, years expecting betrayal only for none to come, meant that she had not been quite suspicious enough, not mistrustful enough _._ So sweet, to see her walk into the ritual chamber. Yes, everything had been working, and then-

Dark Side devour that thrice-cursed Dashade. Zash wants to hear him scream, make him writhe, wants to pulverize the bones of his precious Tulak Hord as he watches helplessly. Distorting the ritual, and then not even having the decency to _die_ and leave his body to the one more powerful, more deserving _._ Even now she can still feel him hang on, like a tick burrowed into flesh.

So. It takes Zash a little time to recover, after that. Time to get used to this new unwanted body, hulking and clawed and still inhabited _._ Time to work out how to push Khem Val's mind down in their half-shared consciousness, wrest control away from him (and surely, surely one day soon she will discover how to keep him from wresting it _back_ ).

Time to plan.

Ending up in a tug-of-war for a Dashade's body is not, Zash decides, the worst thing that could have happened to her. Oh, it is galling, infuriating, undignified... but for now, it guarantees her survival. The girl is bereft of allies, after all.

Which had _not_ been according to Zash's plan. She'd expected her to pick up the pirate on Tatooine, for one. His absence is no great loss – Zash has never had patience for thugs – but puzzling, when she expected the girl to leap at another ally. The way she'd divested herself of the cult on Nar Shaddaa, adroitly shifting their object of worship, had been more frustrating – did the girl have no understanding of the value of a power base?

Most of all, though, she'd seethed over the loss of Corrin and Kaal. She'd had plans for her two new apprentices, too stupid for betrayal (too stupid to realise what would have happened, when poor Darth Zash failed to emerge from the ritual chamber) but just smart enough to be useful. And then they'd both fallen to some idiotic feud carried over from Korriban just a week ago. At that point there had been no time to search out replacements before the ritual.

Now, Zash wonders if the Force was not looking out for her. Because the ritual went wrong and the girl survived. She will be angry, will want to quench this betrayal in blood (such a great Sith, she could become)... but there is no way to kill Zash without also killing her helpful, loyal Dashade, now is there? And killing the only ally she has would be such a stupid move, when the girl is not stupid at all.

(Corrin and Kaal were poor imitations, truly.)

So she will have to bite back her rage. Accept Zash's continuing presence in her life. Interact with her.

And Zash can be so helpful, to an up-and-coming young Sith. All the knowledge she has, the secrets, the lost arts, the intricate web of Sith power at her fingertips. Zash can chart a path for the girl to rise from the lowliest slave to the dizzying heights of Sith power.

(Has already charted, in fact. Zash simply meant for another mind to be occupying the girl's body at the time.)

Bit by bit, the rage will fade. Cannot help but fade, when Zash is so useful, so _kind_ to a lonely girl without allies. When there are years following Zash's lead set on the scales against a single instance of betrayal – when it is still only due to Zash that she ever had a chance at all.

Oh, she will be suspicious – how could she not? - but the beauty of it all is that this time, Zash will be honest. This time, there is nothing to gain in betraying the girl. Not when Zash will need her support and resources to find a way to a more... suitable body.

(After that? They will have to see.)

Zash needs a little time to recover from the setback, but by the time the airlock door slides open she's had that and more.

The girl looks-

Terrible.

Mud streaks her skin, although not so much as to hide the bruises that dot it. The outer robe the girl favours is gone entirely, the shirt and pants beneath it torn and stained. One sleeve has been ripped off entirely, clumsy bandages wrapping the arm.

"Apprentice!" she exclaims, imbuing her voice with just the right amount of concern. "What happened?"

Green eyes snap upwards to meet hers, and for all the girl looks half-dead they are blazing.

"Thanaton." The word comes out as a hiss and oh, that banked rage is _beautiful._ Finally, the girl is learning to hold her anger instead of letting it go; Zash basks in the pride of the teacher who sees a lesson well-learnt. "He tried to kill me. _Why._ "

Well.

That was... not what Zash was expecting to happen, when the girl stalked out to meet her dear former superior several hours ago, ordering her companion to stay behind with a snarl. The Dashade had been in control, ranting and raving about Zash's presence, too consumed by his anger to object. Zash herself had not thought it much of a risk. She'd assumed that even Thanaton would see the potential in the girl, the waste that was killing her out of hand... but apparently she'd underestimated his stupidity.

"Thanaton has always been a narrow-minded fool, unable to see past his precious traditions. He accused me of corrupting the Sith – I'd assumed he'd be smart enough not to transfer that to _you,_ but apparently I assumed wrongly."

The girl shoots her a narrow-eyed, suspicious glare, but Zash is telling nothing but the truth. She plans to avoid lying to her former apprentice if she possibly can in the near future, in order to lull her into a sense of security.

"So a Darth has it out for me. Wonderful." The girl pinches the bridge of her nose. "What do I do about it."

Success curls warm within Zash. Even wounded and betrayed as the girl is, she's still coming to her old master for answers. This will take less time than she'd thought.

"You'll have to kill him, of course. Poison and assassination are options, naturally, but I would recommend gathering the power to beat him outright – there's no use taking his place if you don't have the power to hold it." A mistake far too many Sith made, in Zash's opinion. _Her_ apprentice would be smarter than that. "Now, you could wait, train and gain strength – you more than have the natural potential – but if there are shortcuts available, why not take them?" Here is where Zash would normally deploy a warm smile, drawing her prey in, but somehow she doubted it'd have the same effect in the Dashade's body. "Especially as I think you've already started."

Dashades are not naturally Force-sensitive and so Zash's sense of the Force is terribly muted, in this body... but she would have to be an outright null to miss the change in her apprentice's aura. Power crackles from her in a way it most definitely did not when she left.

Zash hopes she isn't feeling so betrayed that she won't share. This is new, whatever this is, and Zash is _curious_. She's made something of a study of the ways and means for a Force-user to gather power, after all, but nothing she knows of matches. Zash hates not knowing things, especially ones she really should.

"Gather more power. Kill Thanaton and take his place."

Internally, Zash frowns. There is something strange about that repetition. The girl sounds blank, hollow, when she should be delighted. Really, does she not know what an opportunity this is? Thanaton is merely a step below the Dark Council, a level she should by rights need decades to reach. But by attacking her directly, Thanaton has opened the door to her challenging him in return. Hasn't Zash just explained the value of shortcuts?

Well, it has been a long day, and she _is_ injured, Zash thinks charitably.

The girl shakes her head once, roughly, sending her lekku flying. (Zash remembers observing the way she moved them, thinking they might be hard to get used to after the ritual. Now, trapped in a hulking Force-blind monster, she wishes new head-tails were her only problem.)

"Right. I can do that. But we should get out of here first. I need to clean up – can you plot a hyperspace route to Nar Shaddaa?"

A good place to recover, Zash thinks approvingly. Hutt Space limits the way Thanaton can strike at her, and although the girl had tried to pass on the cult there are still connections there.

More to the point, Zash hasn't missed the fact that the girl apparently trusts her enough to ask her to navigate.

"Of course, my dear," Zash says, injecting her words with warmth. She can see the girl straighten in response to the tone.

(The girl had been so hungry for approval, after Korriban, and Zash has had years to refine that. It's so much _tidier_ to manipulate someone if you installed half their levers.

No, this won't take long at all.)

Zash turns to go. No point in wasting time – entering the route to Nar Shaddaa won't take long, so maybe she'll be able to check her mail after. She doesn't know how long she has left until the thrice-cursed Dashade takes control from her again, she needs to make the most of it.

She pauses.

The Force is muted, muddy, slips between her fingers, but there is a whisper of danger...

_Witch I will devour you_ let me out!

The Dashade surges to the surface, tearing at her with a strength that takes Zash aback. She struggles, hanging on with grim determination. Absently, she can feel the body shaking, clawed hands coming up to grasp its head-

-hears the lightsaber ignite behind them.

In desperation, Zash tries to force the Dashade back down. In desperation, he tries to pry her away. The battle takes seconds they do not have.

The blade takes them through the heart.

Khem Val wins a second later, pointlessly, as their strength bleeds out, their body crumples, their vision fades.

"Little Sith..." he growls.

"Sorry, Khem." Her apprentice stands over them now, lightsaber still ignited, face expressionless beneath the bruises. "I'd have liked it to be different."

Trapped in the dying body, Zash rages soundlessly.

Why? _Why?_ How is the girl ever going to gain the power she needs alone? How can she survive the Sith with no allies at her side? _Why_ would she discard both Zash and the Dashade so pointlessly? There is no _sense_ in this betrayal!

"Goodbye."

Zash is great, Zash is powerful, Zash has _plans_ , it cannot end like this-

Darkness.

* * *

Ilmelen doesn't turn off the lightsaber until the last shreds of the strange mingled Force presence are gone, until the body lies still and motionless. For all that there was no battle, simply a blade through the back, her heart is racing and her breath coming in pants.

"You were just going to try and eat me anyway," she tells the corpse to quell the guilt rising within her.

She'd- she'd _wanted_ to free Khem, truly. His situation had been far too close to slavery for her to ever be comfortable with it. It was just that he'd made no bones of the fact that the instant she did so he'd turn on her, and-

In its own way Korriban is a mirror, showing you all the dark and twisted things that lurk within your soul. One of the things it had shown her was that there is nothing she puts above her own survival.

Winning against Khem once had been a close-run thing, and back then he had been weak from his long confinement, unfamiliar with modern Sith tactics. There had been no guarantee she'd be able to win a second time. And so the bond stayed.

One day, she'd told herself in hopes it would wash away the bitter taste the situation left on her tongue. One day she'd be stronger, or would have won Khem's loyalty ( _when has a slave ever been loyal_ a voice whispered in the back of her mind, but it was soft enough to ignore). One day she could set him free.

Ilmelen likes to think she isn't so far gone as to believe this qualifies.

But-

The worst part, the very worst, was that for a minute there Zash had made perfect sense – had only been repeating what had been going through her own head this endlessly long day as she slogged through tombs and bound ghosts to her soul. Of course she must gather her strength, kill Thanaton and take his place in the Sith hierarchy. For one, there were no other options. For another, surely it was what she wanted, because it was what every Sith wanted. Power, ready for the taking- _through strength, I gain power-_

But there were more lines to the Sith Code, and it was the last that had always spoken to her the most.

_The Force shall free me._

The girl who had landed on Korriban had not dreamed of the power of the Sith. She'd dreamed of freedom, of answering to none, of drifting from world to world at her own whim with no chains binding her. Becoming an apprentice, chasing power, learning the rules of their games – all that had only ever been meant as a means to an end.

It terrifies her, that somewhere along the way she'd lost sight of that. Terrifies her to imagine what might have happened if she'd remembered just a little bit later.

_Zash's creature to the bone,_ Thanaton had said, and-

Ilmelen decides that she is not going to think about Zash right now. If she thinks about her, she is going to have to figure out what she _feels_ about her, feels about the master who had given her everything she had only to demand everything she was in payment, who had raised her up and taught her and betrayed her only to be betrayed by her in turn, and she just doesn't have time for that right now.

Doesn't have time for any of this.

The good news is that Thanaton almost certainly thinks she's dead. Even she herself is a little surprised she isn't dead, to tell the truth. Dragging yourself out of the ditch they'd thrown your supposed corpse into has that effect.

But Thanaton is Sith, and that means he's paranoid. It wouldn't take much to make him suspicious.

Khem's death (and she doesn't know if it makes her feel more or less guilty that it was so very necessary) gives her more space. Thanaton will not think she killed him, because by his standards killing him is _stupid_ and he knows she is not stupid. Far likelier that one of her rivals heard of her death, came to help themselves to her belongings and surprised Khem in the process. It will take only a little bit of effort to make it look that way...

...but it does mean she cannot take everything. This needs to be a ransacking, a triumph over a hated rival, not a flight. She can take her datacrons, the lightsaber from Naga Sadow's tomb, her stash of emergency credits (Ilmelen's imaginary rival is a practical soul). She cannot take, for instance, her clothes.

And, of course, she cannot take her ship.

Her heart screams at the thought. She loves her Fury with all the fierce possessiveness of a Sith, of a former slave (in this instance the two paths lead to the same place). It is the home she'd never dreamed of and the freedom she had and it is _hers,_ every nook and cranny of it. So many days she'd spent learning its ins and outs, buried in the guts of the hyperdrive, tracing the stars on the galaxy map, memorizing its controls.

On Tatooine a former pirate had asked to join her, and her heart had leapt to think of an actual ally at her side, one who she wouldn't need to worry would try to devour her one day. But then he had said _sounds like you need a pilot,_ and her mouth had shaped the word _no_ before she even realised because she is the only pilot her ship needs.

And now she is going to have to leave it behind.

No Sith's ship is easily stolen. Thanaton would become suspicious, if her Fury were to depart. And the only way any of this will work is if Thanaton continues to think she is dead.

There is nothing she puts above her own survival.

Ilmelen gathers the things she can take, disguises the signs of her presence. Lightsaber marks now scar the entrance area, new smoking burns on Khem's torso and the sprawl of his body saying he went down in a fight rather than being stabbed in the back. (Because who would he have trusted enough to turn his back to?)

(Thanaton _must not_ suspect.)

What she cannot take with her she destroys. Her wardrobe lies scattered through her bedroom, as though someone had torn through in a fury in search of secret hiding places. The only thing she takes from it is the leatheris jacket that had been a gift from Vette, the one no one would expect a Sith to own. The small collection of souvenirs she's started she scatters carelessly, letting the glass thranta figurine from Alderaan shatter on the floor. She guts her library, slips the Sith texts she'd painstakingly accumulated and the holocron that has pride of place into her bag but crushes the rows of holo-novels (a hobby started and encouraged by Zash, back when Ilmelen had still needed to practice her reading) underfoot.

The last thing she does before she leaves is stop by the data terminal. Back when she started to learn slicing, she'd looked up how to add a failsafe that would purge everything on it on unauthorized access. It will be easy to make it appear her imaginary rival triggered it by accident.

But first...

First she logs into the secondary mail account she and Vette had set up her first time on Nar Shaddaa, so long ago. Buried beneath layers of encryption, this is the first time she's accessed it since. It is, of course, empty. Receiving messages has never been its intended purpose.

She sends a single message, three words long.

_I need out._

* * *

"So then I snuck on a transport and made my way here," Ilmelen finishes.

Vette takes a sip from her cocktail as she studies the kid.

Well, not a kid anymore, even if Vette refuses to let go of a perfectly good nickname just because it's a little outdated. Physically, the years have been good to her – she's filled out, gone from hunger-thin to lean and wiry, gained the inches she was missing and seen the markings on her lekku darken with maturity. The fact that she's an adult now is more obvious in the leatheris jacket. The kid's robes had always been a little big on her, drowning her in their folds, making her look like a child playing dress-up. Intentional, she'd claimed, in order to be underestimated. (Vette had determinedly ignored the more detailed explanation that followed. Trying to understand Sith mind games could only lead to madness.) The jacket fits her snugly – Vette has always had a good eye for sizes – and makes her look like any smuggler, grifter or hired gun in the cantina, an unspoken uniform that adds at least five years to her age. The only thing missing is a blaster, because nobody would be drinking here unarmed.

For once, there's no lightsaber hanging at the kid's belt.

"Sounds like you made a clean getaway," she comments, trying to keep her voice as even as she can. She's-

Okay, she's _delighted._ She's spent years watching the kid sink deeper and deeper into the world of the Sith, becoming sharper, colder, reflexively cruel. Vette had tried to work against it, dragging her out with Vette's gang, corralling her into helping find Tivva or asking her along on a simple heist... but Zash and Zash's tasks had taken up so much of the kid that it had been like fighting gravity. The longer it went on, the more Vette worried that one day she'd find the girl in- on the Dark Council or somewhere, all darkness and lightning with no trace of the wide-eyed kid who'd freed Vette on Korriban left. The fact that finally, _finally_ she's going to quit is the best news Vette's had all year.

But Vette's not going to rub it into the kid's face. It's clear from her hangdog expression that this isn't exactly the kid's first choice, that this isn't how she wanted things to go. And the details (ghosts? _body-snatching?_ ) sure do sound like a horror story.

Way too many of the kid's stories over the years have sounded like the sort of tale Tivva would make up to terrify Vette when they were children, which is one of the many, many reasons Vette has always been in favour of her _leaving._

Right now, the kid is staring blankly into her own cocktail. It's probably a sign of how badly off she is that not only did she not object when Vette ordered her drink, she's also taken out the little umbrella and is twirling it absently. "Clean- yes. I'm still marked as active in the Imperial databanks, but it's probably only a matter of time. The gossip claims I'm dead, at any rate, and that's more important." Her lips twist. "The- Khem's. Body. Was very convincing, apparently."

Vette winces, because that part of the kid's story had been even more awful than the rest. "You couldn't have let him live?"

The kid's lekku stiffen, then sign _absolute negation_. "He – we were connected. He'd have known I was still alive, he'd have been able to track me, and I always knew he'd eat me if I tried to run. And that's not even getting into what having _Zash_ still around would have done."

Worryingly, Vette accepts this. Worrying, because she's always prided herself on being the kind of person who uses her words and her brain instead of her blasters to solve problems...

But Vette knew Khem Val, had heard stories about Zash. Vette knows what the kid is saying is true. And so she can't bring herself to be all too cut up about their death.

Years spent trying to pull the kid away from the Sith. It's possible some of the influence went the other direction.

"I'm sorry," she says because someone should, and reaches over to squeeze the kid's shoulder. "I know this isn't what you wanted. Leaving the Sith like this, I mean."

The kid blinks up at her, lekku twitching back and forth to signal her confusion. "That's- I didn't want it to be like this, that's right, but- I'm still going to be _Sith,_ you know."

Vette's stomach falls as the fear that she's misread things stabs through her. "What do you mean?"

"Oh," the little umbrella is waved in a dismissive arc, "I'm leaving Imperial service, sure. Getting away from the- the organisation, all the politics, all the games they play. But that's not what being Sith means, you know? It's a- a _philosophy._ And loads of _them_ have lost sight of the most important parts of it, too. All they have eyes on is power, but really it's about freedom _,_ and-"

Relief makes Vette lose the next part of what the kid says. This is- okay, it isn't ideal, but nobody spends as long as the kid as a Sith apprentice without ending up with a few screws loose. So she still thinks of herself as Sith, so what? As long as she stops hanging out with the other Sith, Vette can deal.

Unless-

"Please don't tell me this means you're going to be switching back to dark robes and waving your lightsaber around."

The kid gives her a deeply offended look. "Of course not- I just told you how most Sith let themselves be chained by expectations, Vette, weren't you _listening-_ "

Vette loves the kid like her own sister, but she doesn't love anyone enough to sit through what's shaping up to be a multi-hour lecture on the foundations of the Sith belief system.

(The worst part of it is that she's pretty sure this is her fault. She was the one who'd encouraged the kid to find some academic area to be interested in, back when she was stuck on Dromund Kaas with her master trying to cram a decade's worth of schooling into her head. She'd just expected her to latch onto someting other than Sith philosophy.)

"So," Vette interrupts, "what are you going to do next?"

As expected, that cuts off the flood of unwanted information. The kid's shoulders hunch, her lekku droop. Even the little umbrella looks kind of sad and wilted.

Just like Vette thought. Kid has no clue.

"You know you're always welcome to stay with me," Vette offers, "but..."

"But your gangmates don't want me around," the kid finishes flatly.

Vette winces. She really wishes she could say the kid was wrong, but Taunt, Plasmajack and Flash have never quite taken to the kid.

In an odd way, Vette thinks it'd be better if she'd been a Sith to the bone – if Vette had come back at the side of some pureblood brat who'd been marked down for Korriban from birth and couldn't begin to imagine what a shock collar felt like. At least that way, it'd be clear how to treat her. But the kid manages to be both _Sith_ and _fellow Twi'lek ex-slave_ at once, and those two categories are really not meant to have any overlap. Although Vette's learned to cope with the dissonance, her mates have more trouble. That turns them wary and standoffish, and the kid's too good with people not to notice.

All the same, it's not like Vette had been planning to throw that into her face. She's got some tact, sheesh.

"I was going to say," Vette corrects her, "that we work mainly from Nar Shaddaa these days, and I don't think you'd be happy with that."

Impossibly, the kid manages to look even more dejected. "Yeah." Her voice is glum. "I probably shouldn't stick around. I've still got connections in the cult, it's the first place they'd look for me." A sigh. "I miss my ship so much."

Oh, Vette bets. She still remembers the incoherent holo the kid sent her back when she got the thing, so deliriously happy that at first Vette thought she was drunk. Or high. She'd had to watch it a second time in order to realise that no, she wouldn't have to travel to Dromund Kaas to give the kid the talk on responsible use of mind-altering substances. The girl had loved that ship more than some people loved their partners – leaving it behind must have gutted her.

"We'll get you a new one," Vette promises before she can think better of it.

Doesn't regret it at all, when she sees the kid perk up.

"You mean that?"

In for a credit, in for the full load. "Course I do. I still owe you for helping me get Tivva free." Vette frowns. "Not right now, though. I don't have enough money for one, and I'm guessing you couldn't get everything out of your accounts with how you left." The kid nods. Vette clicks her tongue. "But... maybe that's not such a bad thing. I've got contacts, I can get you an in as a hired hand. You can earn up for a ship, and then you'll be a known quantity already. That'll get you freight jobs as an independent."

Vette drums her fingers on the table, thinking.

Not right away. She'll have to teach the kid some things if this is going to work. How to shoot a blaster, first and foremost. And most of Vette's contacts are in Hutt or Imperial space, when given the circumstances it'd probably be safest for the kid to go Republic.

There is one option, even if-

"You'd have to rub shoulders with some pretty unpleasant – and dangerous – people, mind you. You up for it?"

A split second later, Vette realises what she just asked.

"Seriously, Vette?" The kid fixes her with a very unimpressed stare. " _Seriously?_ "

"Right, yeah, ignore me. Stupid question."

Vette breathes in. This... could work. This could really work. It could also end in explosions, but like the kid just pointed out, she's still a former Sith. Or current Sith, whatever, Vette is not getting involved in that one. In any case, Vette trusts her to survive anything the underworld throws at her.

And hey, Vette's always liked taking risks.

"You ever heard of Rogun the Butcher?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this particular twist didn't come as too much of a shock to people! When I posted the first chapter, I didn't know whether I should hint at where things would go in the tags and summary - and potentially disappoint readers when nothing of the sort cropped up in chapter one - or only reference the SI & Vette relationship and possibly surprise readers as of this chapter. Since I'm historically bad at finishing WIPs and it was quite possible chapter one would remain the only chapter, I went for the latter.
> 
> But I did end up finishing Chapter 2! And as you might have guessed, the core of this particular tale was always meant to be the Sith Inquisitor saying "screw this, I quit" at the start of Act 2 and running away to hide in another class story. Vette's presence is more the pebble that starts the avalanche in terms of canon divergence - Ilmelen would not have been able to break away if she hadn't had a very insistent adopted older sister trying to make her do so from the start - than the main conceit here. That's also the reason for the time-skip, although it's not out of the question I'll write some one-shots featuring Vette and the SI in Act I set in this verse at some point.


	3. Corso

Corso's not sure what he was expecting the freighter captain to be like, but this definitely wasn't it. She's – well, she's a she, for one, and Twi'lek to boot, pale green with dark stripes on her lekku. Call Corso a backwater bumpkin, but there aren't that many Twi'lek on Ord Mantell and he never got to know many during his time with the Peace Brigade. He's afraid she's gawping as she sails into the hangar as though she owns the place.

" _H'chu apenkee._ " _Greetings,_ Corso translates. "Ille Vrei. But you can call me Captain."

Corso grimaces as he tries to remember his Huttese. He'd needed the language a lot off-world, but hasn't gotten much use out of it since he returned to Ord Mantell. He's rusty.

Judging by the twist to Skavak's mouth, he also wasn't planning on practicing his language skills today. "Nice to meetcha. I'm Skavak, and the kid is Corso." Skavak doesn't bother with Huttese, but judging by the captain's nod she understands Basic fine. Just doesn't like speaking it any, it looks like. "Now, just sit tight while Corso and I unload-"

That, of course, is where everything starts going wrong, because the terminal beeps to tell Corso the Seps have taken control of the anti-aircraft guns.

Captain Vrei curses when he shares the news. "Once," she tells the sky. "Just once, I would like to have a mission where everything goes smoothly. With no separatists, or cult leaders, or Rakata, or _Colicoids,_ or-"

She shakes her head once, seeming to shake her anger away with the gesture. "Never mind. Not important. Who do you want me to kill and where?"

Corso is still trying to digest that casual query when he meets her eyes. And- no, she hadn't let go of her anger. She'd sucked it inside herself, somehow, condensed it until there was no trace of the emotion left except for the way those green eyes _blazed._

Skavak is the one to point her at the village, and the captain is terrifyingly nonchalant about being sent into an area occupied by the enemy in an active war zone. Blinks at Corso in confusion when he wishes her good luck.

"Eh? You think I'd need luck for a little thing like this? I'd rather you two get busy unloading those blasters while I'm gone. Not that this isn't a lovely planet, but I have deadlines to meet, you get me?"

Corso can't help but stare after her as she saunters out the hangar. Just one woman, with two blasters at her hips and an electrostaff clipped to her back, and she's acting as though he just asked her to shoot some flutterplumes instead of take on a full Sep squad. According to his old boss, that level of confidence means she's either insane or just that good. Corso's not sure which one's the case here.

Both, maybe.

"Checking out the good captain, Corso?"

Corso sputters as Skavak leers at him. "No! I didn't- she's not-"

"Well, why the hell not? She's fit, if you go in for that sort of thing."

Corso doesn't know how to explain it. It's true that normally, he might give a woman he'd just met an appreciative, _respectful,_ glance. And it's true that the captain is probably pretty if you look at her like that. But this time, it didn't even occur to him to do that. Something about the teeth she showed when she smiled at them, the offhand way she'd asked _who do you want me to kill_ , the fire crackling in those green eyes. It's like those parts of Corso's brain have been overridden by an entirely different survival instinct, one that is hissing _warning, predator._

Not that Corso would bother to explain to Skavak, anyway. He's a good guy, but if you ask Corso he sometimes gets a little weird about women.

* * *

Or maybe Skavak is a _scum-sucking, blaster-stealing Sep bastard._

The captain agrees, Corso can tell. She's doing the thing again where she doesn't look angry at all except for the way her eyes are almost glowing with rage. Judging by Skavak's bored look, the effect's not quite making it across the holo.

"I'll give you one chance. Bring my ship back now, and I might let you live."

At the captain's side, Corso jerks in surprise. Because that was Basic, and-

Corso may be a country boy from a galactic backwater, but even Ord Mantell gets holomovies, and the Imps have been the villains for his whole life. He knows an Imperial accent when he hears one... and the captain sounds like she just walked off the movie set.

Skavak's eyebrows go up too, but just for a moment. "Hmm... let me think about it... _no._ "

"You really don't know who you're messing with," the captain purrs, managing to sound _exactly_ like Darth Ephil in _Defenders of Bothawui_. Corso suppresses a shudder.

"And what makes you think I care?" Skavak drawls. "Captain, Corso! It's been a pleasure, really. Say hi to Rogun's bounty hunters for me, will ya?"

At which point the kriffing _Sithspawn_ cuts the connection.

Corso's hands clench into fists, he hisses a curse under his breath. At his side, the captain...

The captain doesn't seem to react at all. She's still staring at the empty space where Skavak's holo was, an odd smile on her face. But-

The air around her feels _strange._ Heavy, somehow, making the hairs on Corso's arm rise. It reminds him of the time he and Rona were caught in a thunderstorm, the feeling in the air before the lightning started.

"Er... captain?" Corso tries to fight down the feeling that he's doing the equivalent of poking a sleeping gundark in the eye. "We- we ought to go see Viidu. He's the ones the blasters were for, he'll be just as pissed as us that Skavak stole 'em – and he's got connections. He'll be able to track the guy."

When the captain turns to look at him, Corso almost flinches. But her smile is wider, approving, as the feeling in the air goes back to normal.

"Wonderful! I love plans. Especially when they get me my ship back." She's switched back to Huttese again, he notes.

"And let us make Skavak pay," Corso adds, because- the guy played him for a fool. Stole from Viidu, who Corso has to thank for everything he's got now. Stole the captain's starship. Stole _Torchy._ Revenge is absolutely a priority here.

"Oh," the captain sounds a little distant, "he was always going to pay. Just a question of how long it takes me to find him. Now, you mentioned an ally?"

* * *

They end up heading to Fort Garnik together. Corso considered letting her go ahead while he comms Viidu and closes down the hangar, but...

Now that the shock of Skavak's betrayal has died down, he can't get that accent out of his head. What kind of smuggler sounds like they came straight from the Empire? What if-

What if she's a _spy_. Imperial Intelligence, here to steal the Republic's secrets. He offered to take her to Viidu before he thought any better of it, and Corso's not one to go back on his word, but...

Well. He'll feel better if he can keep an eye on her.

Or maybe not, Corso finds himself thinking a few hours later. Because if she is a spy, he and Viidu are so utterly screwed.

Corso's good with a blaster. A demon of a fighter, Viidu had called him, with the armstech knowledge to back it up. So his opinion counts for something, okay, and the captain is _unreal._ Every shot hits – and most something vital – she barely has to glance to aim them, and her reflexes are- well, if he didn't know better, Corso would say she started dodging some of the Sep blasts before they even left the barrel. All those things together mean she rips straight through the Sep sniper squads between them and Fort Garnik like a vibroknife through cloth. Corso is left to pick off the odd straggler as he follows in her wake, gaping.

Shavit, he hopes she's not a spy.

Something that strikes Corso as odd is that she doesn't touch the electrostaff on her back once through the whole journey. And okay, most of the time they're at blaster range, but even the two occasions they end up fighting point-blank the captain shoots, kicks and lashes out with the hilts of her blasters instead of grabbing her melee weapon. Why even carry the thing if she doesn't use it?

Because Corso is Corso, he asks.

"Oh, this?" The captain reaches over her shoulder to pat it. "I only use it on special occasions. Right now doesn't qualify." Her expression goes distant. "Skavak, now... I think I might just pull it out for Skavak."

Odd, but the kind of odd Corso can appreciate. People think he gets weird about his blasters too.

"Custom job?" he asks, because he's nothing if not an armstech geek and it looks like it from here. The ends are Adascorp if he's any guess, but it looks like someone's replaced the central section with... nothing Corso's familiar with. He doesn't know as much about staff weapons as blasters, so it's not impossible it's a new line he doesn't know, but if he had to bet on it he'd say it's built from scratch. The curved lines aren't typical of any of the arms companies he knows - look more like someone got inspired by lightsabers, actually.

A little weird, to pair such a unique handle with standard-grade emitters. And... now that Corso's looking, there's something odd about where they join...

"Put it together myself," the captain interrupts him. "A little cobbled together, but it does its job well enough." She's smiling again. She's almost always smiling, Corso's noticed, and he's growing to dislike it. It makes him feel like she's having some private joke at his expense. "I need to bring my blasters up to spec, really."

And yeah, Corso's _definitely_ noticed that she's using clunky old Cereans. He'd double-checked when she started shooting, thought she must have some rangefinder installed or something – but no, they're unmodified. Part of Corso wants to give her a blaster he's improved, because if that's how she shoots with _those,_ he wants to see what she'll be like with a weapon that's actually good. Another part – the sane part, probably – wants to hold off until he knows whether she's a spy.

Up ahead, a Sep sniper pops up from behind a rock, rifle already cocked. Corso jerks to the side, but before he can even get his pistol up there's the characteristic whine of a Cerean and a bolt takes the sniper through the head.

The captain didn't even break her stride.

Corso _really_ hopes she's not a spy.

* * *

"She's not a spy, Corso." Viidu sounds very tired.

The captain's off to Talloran Village. Corso stayed behind – not like she needs the backup – and he's got to admit that it's a relief to be able to talk with Viidu in private. A weight off his back to turn around and not see that strange smile, those green eyes burning into him. He hadn't even realised how tense she made him until she was gone.

"Are you sure?" he asks Viidu. "She's..."

He's never been good with words, trails off and spreads his arms wide in an attempt to describe all the _what the kriff_ that is Captain Ille Vrei.

"Imperial Intelligence don't generally go in for aliens, and they'd never let an agent out of training without them being able to fake a Republic accent... not to mention show a little more subtlety than our dear captain has so far. Besides, didn't you see the brand?"

Viidu traces a line across his cheek demonstratively. And, yeah, it's not like Corso could miss the jumble of letters and numbers emblazoned on the captain's face, or how it broke the skin in a way a tattoo wouldn't... but his mama brought him up polite and he wasn't going to _ask._

"Slave brand," Viidu continues, and judging by his tone this is another thing Corso should've already known if he hadn't grown up in a backwater town on a backwater planet. "Some of the Hutts use them, and it's spread to the Empire from there. She's a former slave, I'd bet, maybe sold to the Imperials from Hutt space – it'd explain the accent, and the Huttese. Fits with her name, as well. _Vrei –_ it's Ryl for _lucky._ It's a common surname among Twi'lek spacers, specifically the ones needing a fresh start or who had no clan name to start with. Sound like the sort of name a freed slave might pick to you?"

Corso swallows. He knows the Empire keeps slaves, of course. If he hadn't known already, he'd've learned during his time in the Peace Brigade. He'd seen the craters, the burned-out cities... but also the villages that were simply _empty._ Heard the stories of transports landing in the night, people dragged out of their homes and forced onto them like beasts. But Corso never left Republic space (doesn't care what the treaty says, to him it's still _Republic space_ ), and he's never spoken to someone who was enslaved – only those left behind.

He wonders about the captain's story, now. Wonders about how she made it from Imperial slave to captain of her own freighter, and how she learned to fight like that along the way.

Not that it's any of his business, Corso knows. The important thing is that at least she's not a spy.

"No," Viidu says drily when he voices that thought. "So now we can stop worrying about the good captain reporting on us to the Empire, and get back to worrying about Rogun the Butcher sending his bounty hunters for all our heads. Such a relief, isn't it?"

Corso swallows.

* * *

The captain herself isn't worried about the bounty hunters. Corso takes that with a large grain of salt, considering he's not sure she even deigns to recognise emotions like fear. He wonders, again, what sort of life might have produced a woman like her, if this is really what slavery does to people, because she's... out of step... in some ways he would _not_ have expected.

Corso feels sorry for Syreena. She's a sweet girl, not cut out for this life if you ask Corso. Bad enough she was getting harrassed by some goons, but then the captain saw and-

It's not that Corso doesn't appreciate her coming to Syreena's rescue. He'd have done the same, if he'd seen. It's just her _methods._

It's later that day, after they've cleaned up all the blood, that Corso sees the captain again. She's in a corner of the warehouse, perched on a crate behind a pile of them, and talking to someone on the holo.

Corso should either interrupt her or leave... but he doesn't. The captain might not be a spy but she's still kriffing dangerous, and he's the one who brought her here – to Viidu, to Syreena. That makes whatever she ends up doing his responsibility, and that means Corso needs to know who she's talking to.

(That's definitely why, Corso tells himself. It's not curiosity.)

"-really don't understand what they were so upset about," the captain is saying, sounding baffled.

"Probably the bodies," the woman on the other end of the holo says. She's Twi'lek too, maybe mid-to-late twenties, dressed similarly to the captain but with a mixed accent that could be from almost anywhere. "People tend to get upset about dead bodies, kid."

Corso doesn't even know the other woman's name, but he already has a healthy respect for her. Anyone who calls Captain Vrei _kid_ is not someone to be trifled with.

"But they were the ones giving someone a hard time. They started it. I even gave them the chance to walk away!"

"Yeah, and you could have finished it in a way that didn't involve a hole in their heads."

Judging by the captain's puzzled stare, this is the first time anyone's ever suggested this idea and she's having a hard time with it.

"...I could have maimed them instead?"

The tiny blue figure heaves an obvious, loud sigh. "I- you know what? Never mind. We'll work on it next time you're on Nar Shaddaa."

"That could take a while, Vette, seeing as how someone stole my starship and all."

"There's a dismissive wave from the holo. "Honestly? Don't take this the wrong way, kid, but I feel kind of sorry for the guy. Of all the ships in the galaxy, he picks _yours_ to steal. I mean, talk about bad luck, right? I give it the end of the week until you've got it back, and when you do he'll be really regretting his life choices."

The captain's been smiling the whole time, but at that it – gentles. Turns into something Corso wouldn't look twice at, something that doesn't send shivers up Corso's spine. "You know – I hadn't even thought of it that way. It's good to know you have so much confidence in me."

"Yeah, yeah, it's like you think I don't even know-" The woman pauses, looks to her side at something out of range of the transmitter. Whatever she sees there, it makes her frown. "Kid, I gotta go. Flash finished the decryption, and turns out our mark's given us a time limit."

"Don't worry about it." The captain's smile is still soft, fond. "Say hi to the gang for me, will you? I'll catch you up on Nar Shaddaa after I get my ship back."

The holo disconnects. The captain turns her head to stare straight at Corso. "Hear anything interesting?"

"Er." Her smile is no longer soft and fond. Corso's stomach lurches. "I- sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop-"

She snorts. "Relax, will you? If I minded people listening in, I'd have made the call somewhere else."

Relief turns Corso's knees to water. It's all he can do not to show it. "Who was that?" he asks instead.

"Vette. Friend of mine, we go way back. She taught me how to shoot a blaster."

Given the way the captain shoots, that makes Corso's eyebrows go way up. He makes a mental note to stay on this Vette's good side.

"Were you looking for me, Corso?" the captain asks and okay, Corso can take a hint. She might say she didn't mind him overhearing the call, but that doesn't mean she likes being asked about it.

Or maybe she just thinks he's here to chew her out some more about the way she dealt with those goons. And yeah, Corso's still not okay with it, but it sounds like even her friend couldn't get through to her – and besides, he's got bigger news.

"We found Skavak, captain. He's gonna be in the Separatist base, and he's still got your ship, Rogun's blasters _and_ Torchy."

The captain outright beams at the news, a bright, open expression that's odd, even a little disturbing on her... but Corso knows exactly how she feels. He's more than ready to show Skavak why he shouldn't have messed with them.

And okay, the captain's probably more than capable of doing that on her lonesome, but that doesn't mean Corso doesn't want to join in anyway. Bastard stole _Torchy,_ he's got to pay for that. Corso'll even get to down some Separatists on the way – it's almost like it's his birthday.

Captain Vrei doesn't mind him inviting himself along. Viidu seems to think it's a good idea too. "I'd feel better if you two had each other's backs in there," he says, and in any other situation Corso'd wonder about that (Viidu's been trying to keep him _away_ from Separatists ever since he picked Corso up, now he's sending him straight into the base?) but he's distracted by the upcoming fight.

Corso Riggs is ready to kick some Separatist ass.

* * *

Except that it turns out Skavak's not a Separatist, Skavak's just double-crossing scum. Corso'd love to take pleasure in the fact that at least he's equal opportunity double-crossing scum, that at least the Separatists got left holding the bag, but it's hard to be happy about anything in this situation. For one, Skavak's gone and Torchy – along with Rogun's blasters and the captain's ship – with him. For another, there's a Sep _right there_ and whenever he blinks Corso sees a burned-out home and grave markers and his throat is tight and there's something hot and heavy roiling in his stomach, as though he's about to puke up lava.

Maybe putting a blaster bolt through the guy's head will make him feel better. Maybe it'll make his family stop haunting him.

Before Corso can fire, though, the captain reaches up to grab his forearm.

"Captain, what-"

What she means by it is clear, but Corso doesn't understand _why._

"Corso. You should think about what you're doing very carefully."

"Think about what I'm doing? They killed my _family,_ captain."

(Grave markers, so many of them, outside the old village. In order to get the names right they'd had to use bioscanners, so many of the bodies had been charred beyond recognition.

He'd only gone once. Knows that's not right, knows a good son'd pay his respects, but he just-

He'd only gone once, and the next few days he'd spent at the bottom of a bottle, and who even knows what would've happened to him if Viidu hadn't dragged him back out.)

"Oh? This man, right here, he killed your family?"

The Sep blubbers a denial, of course. He looks scared enough to piss himself. Corso wants _so hard_ to put him out of his misery, but – as if she read his mind – the captain's hand tightens.

"What's the big deal, captain?" And maybe usually Corso is wary of the captain, but right now all that is being drowned by the rising fury because _how dare she._ "You're seriously telling me _you're_ going to lecture me on how killing people is wrong? _You?_ " He uses the hand that's not holding a blaster to the Sep's head to wave around them.

The captain's left a trail of bodies across Ord Mantell with not so much as a flinch. She took the Separatist base and broke their defenses, just straight-out blasted her way through without caring about any Sep in her way, so what the kriff is her problem with Corso finishing this one off?

"Ah, but I know exactly why I killed those people. I killed them because they were in my way."

Corso's head snaps up. For some reason, the captain's switched to Basic, and he knows she's not a spy but that accent still makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Especially coupled with words like that, because – seriously, talk about sounding like a holomovie villain in _every_ respect. All that's missing is a red lightsaber.

"Well, those goons at the hide-out I killed because they started it and their existence annoyed me," she continues, tilting her head thoughtfully. "And Skavak... well. I guess I'll kill him for revenge, when I catch him. But I'll handle that with care. I've seen so many people kill out of anger and hate, and I've seen so many of them consumed by it. Sometimes, there was nothing you could do for the shell that was left except put it out of its misery."

A deep breath, before she continues.

"I refuse – _refuse –_ to end like that. And that is why I am very, very careful to always know exactly why I am killing someone when I raise my l- my blasters."

The captain's eyes are boring into him as though by staring hard enough she'll be able to strip away his flesh and peer straight into his soul. For once, she is not smiling.

"Corso. If you really, truly want to kill this man, I'll let you. All I ask is that you think _very closely_ about why."

Because he's a Separatist, Corso thinks instantly. Because he's one of the monsters that killed his family (and it doesn't matter if it was him who fired the blaster, it doesn't, they're all guilty by association). Because-

Because there's a hole in Corso's heart where his family used to be, so empty and hollow it aches, and he'd do anything to fill it.

Except...

Will this fill it? Ma's face flits in front of him, Pa's, his aunt and uncle's. How can killing someone replace them? How can it do anything except make their absence even bigger?

_I've seen so many people kill for anger and hate, and I've seen so many of them consumed by it._

The captain was a slave in Imperial space. The captain definitely knows what she's talking about, here.

_Sometimes, there was nothing you could do for the shell that was left except put it out of its misery._

Would Ma have wanted that for him?

Talk about a stupid question.

Before he can think better of it, Corso drops his blaster. "Get out of here. I never want to see you again."

The man blubbers something about leaving to take care of his family, but on seeing the expression on Corso's face ( _oh, so_ you've _still got a family_ ) he breaks off halfway through and just runs for it. Corso lets him go.

There's silence, in his wake. Corso's blaster is pointing at the floor, but his finger is still trembling on the trigger, there's still something sitting hot and heavy in his stomach and the loss of his family _hurts_. He doesn't feel any better.

But it's not like killing the guy would have made him feel any better either.

"C'mon, Captain," he says. "Let's get back to Viidu."

No, he doesn't feel any better as they turn to make their way out of the Separatist base. But...

_Ma wouldn't have wanted that for me._

Maybe he's starting to believe he might, one day.

Maybe, he thinks, Captain Vrei's not that bad after all.

* * *

Of course, all that's shot straight out of the airlock when she kills Syreena.

Corso opens his mouth. Closes it. Manages to squeak out "What the _kriff?_ " on his third try.

The captain looks at him, brows furrowed, her lekku twitching back and forth in what Corso's starting to recognise as confusion. She looks like she did when Vette was trying to get through to her on the holo.

"She betrayed us. She was working for Skavak. What was I supposed to do?"

And of course that's true, and Corso's heart shattered when he saw Viidu's body lying still on the floor (Corso's not even sure he'd have survived those first months without him, hasn't he lost _enough_ kriffing people by now), but Syreena's still-

_You don't hit girls,_ Pa's voice echoes in his thoughts, but looking at the captain Corso doesn't think that'd make much of an impression.

"Didn't you just tell me about not killing for revenge?" he says instead, because it's true. Corso's never had much time for people who say one thing and do another.

The captain frowns at him. "No, I said I make sure I always know exactly why I'm killing someone. And I killed her because you can't just let someone get away with betraying you. What kind of message does that send?"

Corso gropes for something to say in response to that. But he's never been good with words and there are so many things wrong with the captain's attitude he doesn't even know where he's supposed to start-

While he searches for a response, the captain ducks down to where Syreena is sprawled next to Viidu. Digs into her pockets like it doesn't bother her at all. And before Corso has pulled himself together to protest – because sure, they looted the dead Separatists, but that's  _Syreena_ and she should have some respect – she's standing again, two shuttle passes fanned out between her fingers.

"Onwards to Coruscant, then!" She grins brightly as though the topic of Syreena is closed, and maybe for her it is. "I've never been before, this could be exciting."

Exciting, huh.

Corso'd phrase it as a question: is Coruscant ready for Captain Ille Vrei? Because Ord Mantell definitely wasn't.

* * *

Corso thinks a lot, on the shuttle to Coruscant.

Not like he doesn't have the time. He's not in a chatty mood, and apparently the captain picks up on that. After just one attempt at getting him to talk about Rogun's bounty hunters, she leaves him alone.

And it's a good thing Corso already knew that he didn't understand her, because them showing up would definitely have clinched it otherwise. Of all the ways he'd have expected someone to react to one of the big names in the underworld putting you on their hit list, being offended was not one of them.

"Seriously? I've worked for Rogun on at least a dozen ops. I fail one little mission, due to circumstances very much outside my control, I offer to pay him off for it, and he tries to have me killed?" Every inch of her had quivered with indignation. She'd shown less anger when Skavak had stolen her freaking ship. "Talk about squandering your resources! I thought I left this sort of stupid, pointless _waste_ behind when I left- never mind."

And then she'd shaken her head once and killed the two bounty hunters before they could even react, because of course she had.

Maybe not so long ago, Corso would have wanted to hear the end of that aborted sentence. (Left behind what? Slavery? The Empire?) Before Viidu and Syreena had died, and the Separatist hadn't. He remembers being so very curious about how the captain became who she was. But right now he just feels- tired. Empty.

And so he thinks.

When the captain offered him a shuttle pass, it hadn't even crossed his mind to turn her down. Well, of course it hadn't. What was he supposed to do, left behind on Ord Mantell? The lone survivor sitting among the dead for the second kriffing time? 

_Sometimes, there was nothing you could do for the shell that was left except put it out of its misery._

Yeah, Corso can't think of a single better way to reach that point.

Which leaves him adrift in the galaxy, homeless, only a couple contacts left to him from Viidu, closest thing to a goal he has to find Skavak. It'd make sense for the captain and him to stick together. Two heads are better than one, even the best gunslinger needs someone to watch her back, and they're after the same thing.

But...

Corso's eyes track over to the other end of the cantina, where the captain is nursing her own drink. A Zabrak bought it for her. Twig of a guy, barely taller than she is, but apparently got confidence in spades – he's settled in next to her, gesturing widely as he tells the captain some tall tale. She's smiling, but Corso knows that doesn't exactly mean anything.

He has no idea what the guy sees when he looks at her, but it's not what Corso does.

He's...

He's afraid of her, Corso admits to himself.

A slip of a Twi'lek that barely comes up to his shoulder, a _woman_ – _you don't hit girls, man's got to keep his lady safe,_ all the things Pa taught him growing up echo through his head – and she kriffing terrifies him.

This isn't going to work out, is it.

* * *

Captain Vrei's not surprised when Corso suggests they part ways, after they clear customs.

"This is Darmas' holo-frequency," Corso says, because he's relieved she's taking it so well and it's making him feel guilty. "He's a gambler who knows everything is to know about what goes on in Coruscant. Wait a few hours so I can tell him you'll be calling, but I bet he'll be able to track down Skavak for you."

"Sounds like a plan," the captain says. "I'll send you a message once I've found Torchy, okay?"

And yeah, that Vette had the right idea. Corso's got no doubts at all that he'll be getting Torchy back one day soon. "Thanks, captain. And... good luck."

It's what he told her at the very start, right after they met, when she went off to sort out the anti-aircraft guns before Skavak had shown his true colours. Apparently she remembers too, because her expression softens and she responds like she did back then.

"Don't think I'll need it, Corso. But thanks. May-" she breaks off. "You stay safe out there, you hear me?"

"Right back atcha, Captain Vrei."

It's a friendly goodbye, friendlier than he'd expected, but Corso doesn't regret his decision. Not when he feels himself relaxing with every step away from the captain.

He walks to the taxi pad with long strides. He could just call Darmas, but... given who he's just sent the guy's way, Corso feels he deserves to be warned in person. Besides, maybe Darmas will have some work for him. If not, he's still got the rest of Viidu's holo-frequency contacts. Someone's got to need a hired hand. Some other captain, maybe, on some other starship.

Maybe he could look up Rona.

He'll find something, Corso thinks, and doesn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corso is usually (sorry Corso fans!) one of my least favourite characters. His unapologetic sexism, and the way you're not spared from it as a female Smuggler even if you avoid every single Flirt option, sets my teeth on edge. As a result, it surprised me how much fun I had writing his POV here and how I did in fact feel kind of sorry for him through this! What can I say, I guess even Corso doesn't deserve the sheer WTF that results when you plonk an Act 2 Sith Inquisitor into the prologue Smuggler storyline.
> 
> (and then the confrontation in the Separatist base went places I absolutely wasn't expecting, because Ilmelen has seen more than enough Sith eaten alive by their rage and is therefore way more on team "let's be smart about what we do with our emotions" than any non-Force-sensitive is likely ever going to be. So it's actually possible this Corso has been kicked into healthy character development??? go team Sith therapist.)
> 
> Babbling aside, FULL DISCLOSURE: future updates may be delayed or nonexistent because when I originally plotted this fic out, this was intended to be the last chapter. I'm leaving it as incomplete instead because now I *do* have ideas for future chapters and *am* very curious about what Ilmelen/Ille Vrei will do to the Smuggler storyline (and, uh, how traumatized the NPCs will be at the end), but it may take me quite some time to figure out where I want to take that and I wasn't actually planning to start another longfic at this point.


End file.
